


that lipstick on your collar (well it ain't my shade of pink)

by RaeDMagdon



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Art, F/F, Fingering, Lipstick, Oral, Power Bottom, Rough Sex, Service Top, Squirting, Tumblr Fic, Tumblr Prompt, but we love her anyway, is there such a thing as makeup kink??, power bottom waverly, service top nicole, switch - Freeform, they both get a turn ok?, wynonna ruins everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 13:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: The first thing Nicole ever noticed about Waverly Earp was her lips.





	that lipstick on your collar (well it ain't my shade of pink)

**Author's Note:**

> This was all @charcharcat 's idea. They sent me a drawing they did of Nicole with lipstick smoochmarks on her face and... this fic happened. IT'S NOT MY FAULT.
> 
> Personally I think Nicole is a puppy who mostly gets off on the rough stuff bc Waverly gets off on it so much. Her kink is Waverly turning into a puddle of happy. (Nicole's a service top, fite me.)
> 
> Go follow them, and you can follow me @raedmagdon too. :D I write lots of smutty gay stuff.

 

The first thing Nicole ever noticed about Waverly Earp was her lips.

Well, not the very first thing. That’d been Waverly’s cleavage, since the front of her tank top was soaked through and all attempts to dry the stain with a towel had only made it spread. But after that, it had definitely been Waverly’s lips. With a single smile full of sunshine, they’d hooked Nicole’s attention, reeling her in until she was flapping like a fish on the end of a line.

She’s been gutted by the sight of them ever since.

It isn’t her fault. Criminy, just looking at Waverly’s mouth puts such thoughts into her head. She can’t help but notice that Waverly’s upper lip is bowed, almost mischievous, like she’s holding back some kind of secret. And the lower one… full, plush, perfect for sucking or digging her teeth into.

Nicole adores Waverly’s lips when they smile. It fills her up with pride to know she’s the reason.

Nicole can’t resist Waverly’s lips when they pout. The slight quiver in them makes her own knees weak.

Nicole loves Waverly’s lips when they move. If she isn’t careful, she ends up watching Waverly’s mouth shape words without hearing a damn thing she’s saying. (And she wants to hear what Waverly has to say, because it’s usually interesting or funny or both.)

And when Waverly’s lips devour hers, just like they’re doing right now? Nicole doesn’t know how the hell to keep from losing her mind. Doesn’t know if she even wants to stay sane, either. All she knows is that she craves the sticky-sugar taste of Waverly’s lipgloss and that warm, wicked, honey-sweet tongue like nothing else on God’s earth.

When Waverly releases her mouth with a soft click, Nicole’s eyes flick down, widening in awe. Her lover’s lips are painted redder than the devil, liner all smudged, swollen from kissing. Seeing them so close only makes Nicole want to mess them up more, but when she tilts forward, Waverly draws back, hovering out of reach.

“Hey,” Waverly whispers. Her eyes are half-lidded, and she’s wearing a smirk that slices straight into Nicole’s boiling belly. “You promised I could go first.”

“Next time,” Nicole rasps. Her insistence is weak at best, a plea at worst. She knows she needs to give Waverly a chance to explore, to play, to figure this whole making love with a women thing out, but it’s so damn hard—no pun intended. Those lips make her want to pin Waverly to the wall with her mouth and slide her hand right up whatever ridiculously short skirt her girlfriend happens to be wearing.

She tries to kiss Waverly again, pausing for a split second before contact just to make sure she’s not demanding too much or crossing an unwanted boundary… and Waverly uses that second to shift out of reach again, leaving Nicole craning her head forward and looking more than a little foolish.

“You promised, though.”

A whimper cracks in Nicole’s throat. She shouldn’t have made that dumb promise at all, because here Waverly is, perched on her lap and looking so sweet and hopeful, and how in heaven is she possibly supposed to say no?

She can’t. All she can do is run her hand along the narrow slope of Waverly’s back, curling her fingers into the delicate dip at the base of Waverly’s spine. “Okay. You can go first.”

Waverly squeals with excitement. She’s a little too close, and the noise is a little too loud, but Nicole doesn’t even have time to flinch before Waverly’s pressing kisses to her face, her throat, peeling back the collar of her shirt to reach her shoulders as well. Those wonderfully awful lips wander anywhere and everywhere, and Nicole moans as starbursts of heat burn into her skin, each one covered by a bright red lipstick print.

It only gets messier as Waverly heads south. She peels Nicole’s shirt up slowly, lavishing each new strip of skin with attention. Only once the tops of Nicole’s breasts are blushing and her collarbone is covered in faint purple teethmarks does Waverly finally pause to take the shirt off entirely.

Nicole can barely breathe. She’s too dazed to help as Waverly fumbles with her bra, too sensitive to do much more than stroke Waverly’s silky hair as the straps slip down. Moments ago, she would have traded anything to be in charge, but now she’s not so sure. She’s got fever coursing through her and Waverly’s lips are the only relief she knows.

The bra goes flying and so does Nicole, falling backwards onto the bed as Waverly tips her over to straddle her hips. Nicole’s hands shoot down to Waverly’s lean thighs, but they grasp instead of petting. Waverly’s lips have latched onto the hard, sensitive peak of her nipple, and Nicole has to hold something or she’ll go insane.

“Sweet Jesus,” she groans, but she doesn’t know if the words sound like sense, or if Waverly’s even hearing them. From what Nicole can see and feel, Waverly’s engrossed in what she’s doing, sucking and sliding and swirling.

Nicole can’t stay still anymore. Her hips jerk up into Waverly’s, searching for something, anything.

Waverly laughs. Laughs. It’s a sweet, loving laugh, only the slightest bit smug, but it brings out beads of sweat along Nicole’s hairline and makes her tongue swell up too big for her mouth. She can’t respond, because Waverly has already started sucking her other nipple, lashing it with feather-like flicks that make Nicole feel like she’s about to start levitating.

It feels like forever crammed into a hot minute when Waverly finally abandons the throbbing tips of her breasts. To Nicole’s amazement, the straining buds are circled with bright red, but the sight goes blurry as Waverly keeps kissing her way down, sliding her tongue all over the flat, trembling surface of Nicole’s abdomen.

Torture. There’s no other word for this. It’s absolute torture, and Nicole doesn’t have a clue whether to plead for mercy, or for more. Waverly seems intent on ‘more’. She pops open the button of Nicole’s fly, then takes the zipper between her teeth, peeling it down slowly. Nicole can barely hear the noise above her own heavy breathing. She barely has enough wherewithal to lift her hips so Waverly can tug her trousers down.

“Geez. You’re so wet.”

Nicole can’t even make fun of the ‘geez’, because Waverly’s fingertips are already running along the soaked fabric of her briefs, playing through the stain there. The more Waverly strokes, the more it spreads, until Nicole can feel the wet cotton clinging to every lip and fold. It’s almost like she isn’t wearing anything at all.

Waverly looks incredibly pleased with herself. “Looks like I turned the faucet on,” she chuckles, circling the visible outline of Nicole’s clit.

That does it. Nicole knows she promised, but Waverly has pushed her beyond what a reasonable woman should be expected to endure. She surges up, shucking her ruined briefs and threading her fingers through Waverly’s hair. Although she doesn’t push—she doesn’t want to be too rough, and she has some manners—she gives the slightest nudge to the top of Waverly’s head, offering encouragement.

“Take your turn, baby, or lose it,” she mutters, her eyes locked onto Waverly’s swollen red lips.

Waverly doesn’t keep her dangling any longer. She ducks beneath Nicole’s knees, and Nicole’s head lolls back against the pillow as Waverly’s tongue sets straight to work. The first few strokes are slow, curious. They haven’t done this too often yet, and Waverly’s still learning. But damn if she isn’t a good student, because a few licks later, Nicole’s insides are shivering up a storm.

Nicole keeps her hand on the back of Waverly’s head, but she’s not at all in control. She’s a slave to the lips planting wet, open-mouthed kisses around her clit and the tongue that keeps sliding down to dip inside her entrance. Waverly never stays long in one place, which means Nicole can’t get used to the rhythm. All she can do is rock her hips and hope Waverly will give her what she needs.

And Waverly is more than willing to give, but only in her own good time. The liquid fire of her mouth leaves Nicole in ruins, sweating like a horse and bucking like one too. She can’t keep still, not even when Waverly’s cool palms press into her thighs to spread them wider.

It’s those lips. Those gorgeous goddamn lips that feel every bit as sweet as they taste, and somehow manage to seek out every weak spot Nicole has—even some she doesn’t know about. They fit around her just so, the softest thing she’s ever felt in her life, and suck with just the right amount of pressure.

They pull a shout from deep within her, one that rattles the room. “Waves!”

And then, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing, Waverly pulls back, ignoring the limp hand fluttering on top of her head and leaving Nicole bare and open against the cold air. Nicole is about to protest, but the words die in her throat.

Waverly’s lips aren’t covered with lipstick anymore. They’re still swollen and sleek and shiny, but Nicole knows it’s all from her, from the river of slick she’s already spilled. Waverly’s mouth and chin are dripping too, and as Nicole watches, she flicks her tongue out, gathering some from the corner of her mouth.

Nicole hits her peak without any contact at all. For all her moaning before, she comes in total silence, too overwhelmed to make a sound. Heat spikes in her core, then spreads out to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her inner walls ripple, clenching and releasing around nothing, and she can feel her staggered heartbeat in every square inch of her body.

Waverly seems surprised, but not disappointed. Nicole can feel the ticklish vibration of laughter as Waverly dives back in to finish what she started, and that only makes her come harder. She stays frozen, muscles locked, jackknifed on the bed with her nails raking along Waverly’s scalp, because if she doesn’t dig in somewhere, she’s afraid she’ll fly off the face of the earth itself.

When it’s over, she should be exhausted. Her eyes should roll back in her head and her limbs should sink straight through the mattress like they’re filled with sand. She should pant until she catches her breath and mumble some kind of thank-you, and pet Waverly’s hair in appreciation.

But Nicole isn’t one to let a lady go unrewarded—or to miss out on her turn after waiting so patiently for it. She doesn’t give the fog any time to settle before she hauls Waverly up and rolls her over, muffling her squeak of surprise with a deep kiss. Waverly’s lips taste like her, heavy with salt, and that only makes them more addictive.

It’s nothing to flip up Waverly’s skirt and pull her panties to one side. Nicole doesn’t even bother taking them off. She can feel Waverly already, hot and tight and slippery, and as soon as Waverly nods and wraps a leg around her hip, she thrusts two fingers as deep as she can.

She isn’t always this rough. Their first time was slow and sweet, full of the kinds of kisses they write love songs about. But since taking the next step, Nicole has come to realize that Waverly likes the roughness, the passion, the sort of thrusts that make her wail when they bottom out. She likes it hard and fast and deep, and Nicole is more than willing to give her that.

Waverly comes before the tendons in Nicole’s wrist even start to burn from the effort. Just a few strokes, and she’s mewling like a kitten, spilling high-pitched, needy sounds straight into Nicole’s mouth. Her velvet walls clench impossibly tight, and her clit twitches against the heel of Nicole’s hand. Nicole curls her fingers forward, gasping when she gets what she’s looking for—hot jets of fluid pouring into her palm.

When the flood hits, Waverly breaks away, whining with what almost sounds like pain. But when she starts mumbling, Nicole knows better: “Oh god, oh god, ohmygod ohmygod ohmy…” Her chant ends in a scream, with another gush of warmth right on its heels.

Seeing Waverly’s jaw go slack fills Nicole with pride. She kisses Waverly one last time, putting everything she has into it, tasting come and lipstick and something she can’t even find a name for, but that her heart knows anyway.

They don’t stop kissing until Waverly’s muscles relax and her body goes limp. Even after gulping to recover some air, all she can say is: “Wow.”

Nicole barely hears the word. She’s still staring at Waverly’s mouth, which is a total mess, but the most perfect mess she’s ever seen. It’s such a vision of loveliness that she doesn’t notice Waverly reaching down until her fingers are already being withdrawn. Nicole doesn’t want them to leave their snug home, but when Waverly brings them up, taking both gleaming fingers straight into her mouth to suck them clean, it’s not a disappointment. Fresh fire simmers in the pit of Nicole’s stomach and her breath hitches in pleasant surprise.

The loud slam of a door from downstairs makes them both jump. Nicole jerks her hand back and Waverly’s mouth snaps shut. They lock eyes, reading terror on each other’s faces. It’s probably just Wynonna—she usually stomps wherever she goes—but there’s no way to be sure. Protected or not, plenty of unwelcome guests have broken into the Earp house before.

“Wynonna?” Nicole calls out, trying to be heard from upstairs. “Is that you down there?”

No answer.

With a deep sigh, she rolls herself off Waverly and out of bed, fumbling for her clothes. “Coming?” she asks hopefully, but Waverly just grins and shakes her head.

“Already did. But if you’re asking me to go downstairs with you… nope.”

“Why not?”

Waverly spreads her legs to show the soaked fabric of her underwear and the large dark spot on the back of her skirt. She’s in no condition to go downstairs, so Nicole makes the best of it, struggling into her shirt without bothering to look for her bra.

“Baby,” Waverly calls after her.

“Hmm?”

“You might want to wipe your—”

Another thud comes from downstairs, and Nicole rushes out of the room, hitching her pants up and adjusting her holster on the way.

She arrives on the bottom floor, pistol in hand and finger on the safety, only to see the best possible outcome: Wynonna sitting in the kitchen, leaning much too far back in her chair, boots propped sideways on the table and the neck of a bottle clutched in her hand.

“What’s with the noise?” Nicole asks, putting her pistol back in its holster.

Wynonna snorts, not really looking at her. “Would you rather have me sneaking around on kitty paws while you’re screwing my baby sister? The noise is a warning for you to put your pants back on.”

“Mm.”

Normally, Nicole might have been more talkative, but her mind is still on Waverly’s lips and how they’d felt wrapped around her fingers, and what they could have continued doing if Wynonna hadn’t interrupted. She sighs, heading to the fridge for some water. Waverly’s bound to be dehydrated.

“Wait, stop.”

“Huh?”

“Turn around.”

Nicole does, her brow furrowing in confusion. The confusion turns to annoyance as Wynonna rocks back even further in the chair, her nostrils flaring and her free hand flying to her mouth. She bites down on her fist, trying and failing to stifle laughter.

“What’s wrong with you?” Nicole asks, but that only makes Wynonna whoop harder.

“What’s wrong with you, Bozo the Clown? Red really isn’t your color.”

Understanding dawns, and Nicole groans, burying her face in her hand. Waverly’s lipstick, the lipstick she loves so much, is all over her face, her fingers, even the collar of her shirt.

“You—you look like you’ve been mauled by a million grandmas,” Wynonna cackles, leering wider than the moon. “Did someone put Spanish Fly in the vents at the nursing home while you were on duty, Officer Haught?”

“Retirees wouldn’t wear this color,” Nicole mumbles sulkily, snatching a paper towel from beside the sink and running it under the tap.

“One more, one more,” Wynonna snickers while Nicole scrubs at her face. “You look like a Sephora sample case jizzed all over your face.”

Nicole balls up the damp towel and chucks it into the garbage. She narrows her eyes, pressing her lips into a thin line as she weighs her options. She doesn’t think of herself as the kind of woman who kisses and tells, or who makes private things public, but this is Wynonna, and for once, her girlfriend’s smartass sister isn’t going to have the last word.

“You should see my thighs,” she drawls, shifting her weight to one hip. Then she flounces up the stairs, Wynonna’s laughter hooting behind her. She ignores it, heading back to Waverly’s bedroom. Those dangerous lips might drag her into heaps of trouble, but there isn’t enough trouble in the world to scare her away.

 

 


End file.
